sacked

fog owns the town

in its palm
lawyers nibble each other's fingers
the churches take their cut

at the fat lunch
the men of business
carve themselves prayers and praises

the fog comes to my window
and lisping in says

i've drained the town of you
and you of the town
come outside
and let me smother you
to the border

no person calls
and only the headless
watch and watch in the street